


The Best RIO

by Jeneral2885



Category: JAG
Genre: Gen, f-14 tomcat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-28 06:42:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2722553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeneral2885/pseuds/Jeneral2885
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story attempts to fill a gap in the JAG universe. May be slightly AU with a change of character especially with Tom Boone. Note: No Harm, No Mac, No Meg, No Sturgis, No Bud and Harriet (yucks!) none of the main characters. So no lawyer stuff here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_This story hopes to close another gap in the JAG universe. Here there's no Harm, Mac, Meg or any of the any other main JAG characters. No law room fighting, Article 32 hearing or JAGMAN investigations. Its plan Naval Aviator/pilot stuff, well as best as I can gather info on. Let's see how it progresses._

**USS Seahawk**

**Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean**

**End of December, 1995**

"Enter," the voice said. Lieutenant Jack "Jacko" Painter and Lieutenant Adam "Ray" Wilson did so and came to attention. Captain Thomas Boone, CAG of Carrier Air Wing Sixteen, sat behind his desk, hand grapping a Mount Blanc pen but not moving. "At ease. I still don't know what the hell happened, gentlemen. It's as if fate decided to hit both of you."

The two Naval Flight Officers, or F-14 Radar Intercept Officers (RIOs), spied a momentary glance at each other and then faced the CAG again. It was weeks after their almost fatal accident and both of them only just diagnosed by the carrier medical officer of a defective eyesight condition. To cut a long story short, "Jacko" was performing a pre-flight check when gas spewed out of his Tomcat and initially blinding him. "Ray" was nearby and immediately rushed to pull him away but not before he got a blast of the gas too. For both of them it was only a momentarily bit of pain and they were cleared to fly the next day. The gas leak was written off as a simple malfunction. It was week later on a routine flight that both RIOs started having blurry eyes and developing swollen eyes. According to the senior medical officer, it was some rare eye infection that needed medical treatment a carrier could not provide.

"And damnit it it's not just you guys I'm losing. It will be your skills. Jacko and Ray you two of my best RIOs. I was going to post you two and your drivers to TOP GUN. Instead, now I've to transfer you to freakin' Bethesda instead. Bloody Hell." Keep his distance from them and remembering the advice not to even shake hands, Captain Thomas Boone gave a smile with a regrettable look and said, "God Speed gentlemen. Hopefully the docs on shore can cure you and return you to this Air Wing."

The two NFO left and Boone headed out stamping on the ladders and decks as he did so. Other personnel quickly "made a hole" for the moustached and season veteran, lest they turn his anger into a booming shouting. Less than five minutes later, he barged through the doors marked "Office of Personnel" and nearly collided into the young Lieutenant and his coffee cup. Within much of a greeting, Tom Boone literally boomed, "So when are they giving me replacement RIOs? And it better not be just ASAP, cause I got an Air Wing exercise coming up and no one will reduce the manpower readiness of my Air Wing, eye infection or not!"

"Sir..." the Lieutenant handling personnel posting and transfer stammered. "Two RIOs are coming in as you speak. They'll be arriving on the next COD, in uh fifteen minutes time." His hand shook as he passed the folder over.

Nearing tearing it open, the CAG exploded. "Jacko and Ray are being replaced by women?!"

 


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the initial reviews. OK, so I didn't mention Skates in the first chapter but the character pairing is a dead give away. As noted, there's not going to be a Harm/Mac/Meg or any JAG in this FF at all. Pure Skates and Tom Boone.

I'm not privy to all the training and qualifications of F-14 RIOs and pilots or the actual avionics and such. What is written here thus may diverge from reality. Correct me on key aspects please eg. drones for aerial training, dogfighting terms and manoeuvres.

Over the Pacific Ocean

The Same Time

"Folks, this is the pilot speaking. Brace yourselves for landing." Lieutenant Elizabeth Hawkes, fresh out of NFO training, did so, glancing at her friend, Lieutenant Mary Watkins. Both RIOs were just on their leave after being "winged" when they received orders to be dispatched to the USS Seahawk. Both of them were best friends since high school, and both enrolled at the NROTC at their respective colleges. Having a passion for flying, both women secured places at flight school, however, they were disappointed that the applications for Naval Aviator were full. Thus they choose the next best option: Naval Flight Aviator. Both of them ended up training as F-14 Tomcat RIOs, two women amongst a whole gaggle of men. Their school, NROTC and flight training life were probably the only similarities between the two. Elizabeth, Liz to her parents and Beth to her friends, was a short five foot one with brown hair and a slim build. Given her diminutive appearance, she always had to fight for her rights, whether it was to get the book from the highest shelf or to enter the school's sports team. Beth made up for her short height by participating in many outdoor activities and sports. As much as she sailed and ran, Beth remain relatively the same size and built. Mary on the other hand, was at least six inch taller than her friend and was a pure blonde. Yes, that meant she was the girlish type and when away from the military, she was always with her girl friends, window shopping and purchasing the latest cosmetics and clothes. Her room was filled with all the female brands so much that she had to borrow money from friends and family. "Mary, one day you'll either have to save money or rein in your spending," Beth often cautioned her, albeit to no avail.

BUMP! The C-2A Greyhound caught the arrestor wire and landed. "Oh gosh, I can't believe we're actually here," Mary commented. Elizabeth Hawkes simply nodded and then waited for the aircraft to taxi before unbuckling her safety straps. Exiting, both NFOs were greeted by a blonde LTJG with curly hair. "Welcome aboard the Seahawk, I'm the PAO, Lieutenant Emily Horricks," she smiled and shook hands with both. "Am I personally glad to have both of you here."

"And why is that, Lieutenant?" Beth asked.

"Well, ma'am, you're increasing the female population on this ship, even though by two. There's less than a hundred girls over here and most of them are enlisted. And the rest of us officers hold minimalm non-combat roles. You're the first female officers in a combat role here."

"Well, we'll definitely make waves then," Beth said, grapping her bag tightly as the carrier deck wind was ferocious. Next to her, Mary was wincing as the wind struck her face rapidly like needles thrown at tremendous speeds. The PAO responded to Beth but her words were drown out as a F-14 caught the number two wire. At the from of the mighty carrier, two F/A-18s were being readied for take off and to their right, a Seahawk helicopter was landing. They had just entered the real world of carrier operations.

"What did you say?" Mary queried, shouting over the noisy deck.

"I said, you'll face many brick walls and potholes before you can make waves ma'am," LTJG Horricks said, leading them into the mighty nuclear-powered ship. "Equality rules and such may be one thing, but the Navy and practically the whole armed forces is a man's world. Phallics symbols, banter, you name it, everything is male dominated. We girls are forever second rate to them, less its in the Medical Corps."

"Well, that definitely should not be the case," Beth said with a slight defiant tone. "We're in the Twentieth Century, not medieval times for cry out loud. And even in those days, there were female warriors like Joan de Arc." Beth had taken a module on Feminism in her freshman year and wrote an essay detailing on how female equality evolved.

"Ma'am, you may aspire to be a Joan, but you'll have to face the AG first. There's a big story about him I'll tell you later. Here we are," she stopped in front of a door with the letters VF-12 stencilled across.

"I thought you were going to show us our quarters first," Mary remarked, her tone indicating some lethargy.

"Your Squadron CO wants to meet you first. Go ahead inside, I'll wait and hold your bags here."

Both new RIOs did so upon the reply "enter" and came face to face with their new Commanding Officer, Commander Steven Bates. "Lieutenant Hawkes and Lieutenant Watkins reporting as ordered, sir!" They both said, standing at attention.

"At ease," Bates said, walking over. Beth judged him to be maybe just under six foot, brown hair with a tinge of grey and extremely muscular arms. The last was evident in his handshake. "Welcome to the Seahawk and the Ghostriders, the best fighter squadron in the fleet." Greetings over, he continued, "I understand you two are in the top ten of your NFO class, congratulations. Class is the easy part; flying is the one that will see what you are made of. You'll have to not just prove that to me but to Grizzly..."

"Talking about me Slider?" Captain Tom Boone said, entering the room. Both Lieutenants immediately snapped back to attention. "So, these are the girls replacing 'Jacko' and 'Ray'?"

"Yes CAG. Lieutenants, this is the CAG, Captain Thomas Boone, call sign 'Grizzly.'". Both RIOs gave a "nice to meet you sir' greeting, but Mary couldn't hello shivering under the sight of the moustached guy. "So, we lose two great RIOs and get two birds in return?" Beth stared ahead, biting her tongue. How dare he call us that?

"I was just telling them that they may have scored well in NFO training but..." Commander Bates was cut off by his boss. "Well, well Lieutenant Elizabeth Hawkes. Gradated summa cum laude, Cornell University, BS. Top Chemistry Student. Second in NFO cohort." Tossing her folder to one side, he continued. "Lieutenant Mary Watkins. Graduated magma cum laude, Carnegie Mellon University, Major in Physics, minor in economics. Fifth in NFO cohort." Tossing that to another side, he looked directly at both officers. "So not only do they post two girls here, but they post two brainy girls over here. You think that's enough to make you the best RIO?"

"Yes, Sir!" Beth suddenly said, causing Mary to widen here eyes and nearly shift backwards. What the heck did you just do?

"That's pretty arrogant, considering you just got here." Boone was now inches away from Beth's face.

"Yes, sir," she said a little softer but still with a confident tone.

"I like that Hawkes. At ease," he commanded and Mary gave a silent word of thanks. Just as she thought it was over, Tom Boone said, "why don't you get started. Slider, get their drivers up. The weather's still good for a sortie or so." After the "Aye, CAG," Tom Boone disappeared.

"Ok Lieutenants, you heard the CAG. Get to your quarters and change out. I'll meet you at the ready room in fifteen and introduce you to your pilots."

To Be Continued.


	3. Chapter 3

**USS Seahawk**

**Somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, South of the Hawaiian Islands**

"Beth…what the hell did you did you get us into?!" Mary Watkins whispered with a exasperating tone, once the two junior RIOs had left the CO's cabin. "We just got here and accepted a challenge from that CAG?!"

"Mary, what challenge. It's just simply a test. And just a chance to show off what we've learnt. He's just another CAG."

"He scares me as a male chauvinist. Seems to look down on us female officers," Mary replied.

"Yeah, he really rattled his first female RIO. She later was murdered and one JAG officer suspected him but it wasn't eventually," LTJG Horricks interjected, as she lead them to their assigned quarters.

"You don't say," Mary remarked. "This is going to be a hell of a posting."

"Mary, look and stay confident." They finally entered their quarters which were standard for any junior naval officer. "I'll catch up with you two later," Lieutenant Horricks said, after giving them a quick run down of their cabins. "Good luck for your first mission."

Both RIOs proceeded to change into their flight suits. Back in the late 1990s, female aviators and flight officers were the minority. So flight suits were flight suits for males. Still, that was not the major issue for the girls. Male fighter pilots could use a crude catheter-like device to relieve themselves in flight. For females, there was no such contraception yet so Beth and Mary used protective underwear—no female wanted to call it the D word. G suits came on, definitely needed in any short or long mission less the aviator black out. The girls had brought along their own helmets—this was one of the few items that could be shaped according to the head size of females. The only thing left was that neither of them had call signs yet. At flight school they were just addressed by their surnames.

Minutes later, they entered the ready room where a quartet of similarly dressed men were chatting and laughing. CO Bates walked in and immediately with an "Attention of Deck!" the room fell silent. "Well, lazing around? We've two new arrivals and the weather out there's still clear. So CAG wants to break them even. This will be a simple mission. Launch with dumy Sidewinders hit Angels fifteen, practice set one maneuvers and head back for the boat. Now, Bear and Crusher, I'd like you to meet your new RIOs."

Beth and Mary saw two of the four men approach. One was about five foot eight, normal build, with brown hair just like Beth. The other was a taller six foot one, blonde hair with extremely muscular build. The two of them hesitated and just stood in front of the two new NFOs initially before Beth extended her hand.

"Elizabeth Hawkes, call me Beth," she said, matching the strong handshakes with a firm grip.

"M..ary Watkins," her friend spluttered, clearing her throat for no particular reason.

"John Rayson, call sign 'Crusher'," the shorter one announced.

"Darren Brown, call sign 'Bear'," the taller guy greeted.

"Geez guys, I hope your responses in the air are much faster than that," the CO remarked. "You have two mikes (minutes) to figure who's paired with who are get out on deck. If not, I'll drag you all personally." He grunted and then left.

"You from the New York State area?" Beth, asked.

"Yeah, Brentwood, your accent doesn't sound…" 'Crusher' replied.

"I lost it during college. I hail from Woodbury."

"Well another East Coaster on board. Maybe you two should pair up," 'Bear' replied.

"Our two minutes are almost up anyway." The pilots and the RIOs shook hands again as the exited and proceeded up the ladders to the flight deck.

"So, why are you called Crusher? Is it because of your er arms?" Beth asked her new pilot, attempting to get to know him further.

"Haha, every nrewbie thinks that. The guys gave me that name because I've the habit of crushing soda cans after drinking them."

"And how about you, 'Bear'? "Mary interjected for the first time. She was still reeling from the series of suddent events: this new posting, the COD landing, the demanding CAG, and now this towering pilot.

"Definitely not my size. Rather, it's my family holiday lodge; there are so many bears around. Anyway, that's the burning question for you two back-seaters: What are your call signs?"

To be continued.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks for all the reviews so far. I’ll update the previous chapters later._

_Remember this is the early 1990s thus the inclusion of long-serving naval aircraft of old times._

_I’m not a fully expert on how US Navy aircraft are launched but what is written below may be found online._

**USS Seahawk**

**Somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, South of the Hawaiian Islands**

 

“We don’t really have any,” Lieutenant Watkins said as they walked to the planes. “I mean we were all so focused flight school and the lots we didn’t think of callsigns.”

 

“Well, every one, pilot or RIO has to have a call sign,” ‘Crusher’ replied. “Let’s name you two now. Hawkes,” he turned to her, “you look like one who has quick responses. Why not take the name ‘Raptor’?””

 

“You mean like the dinosaur?” Hawkes laughed. “I’m not sure I’m that but that’s a good start. You wouldn’t mind if join you?”

 

“Well that leaves you and me,” ‘Bear’ said turning to Watkins. “I’m not sure what to name you. Maybe ‘Lamb’ or ‘Shepherd’? I’m not picking on your name,” he added quickly.

 

“I’ve no clue how to form any nickname,” Watkins repeated herself. “But I’ve always heard the joke about me having a little lamb. I’ll take...Shepherd,” Watkins winced as an S-3 launched of the deck, rapidly increasing the surrounding noise. Just as it cleared the bow of the ship, an A-6 intruder caught the fourth wire.

 

“Man, I think this Tomcat was built for me,” the newly named ‘Raptor’ remarked as she settled into the RIO’s seat.

 

“Well, don’t get to comfy yet,” ‘Crusher’ radioed back, replying to the hand signals to the ‘blueshirts’ and ‘yellowshirts’.

 

“Radar standby, Roll SAS off,” Hawkes replied, immediately, launching into the checklist.

 

Soon enough, the deck crew had positioned them at the catapult. “Pitch trim set for catapult.”

 

“Pitch stream set,” ‘Crusher’ acknowledged.

 

“Wing sweep auto,” Hawkes continued.

 

“ Check.”

“Engine instruments normal?” this came more like a question.

 

“Check,” Crusher replied.

 

“ That’s the list.”

 

“You’re pretty good,” Lieutenant Rayson commented. “My previous RIO missed out some step and wasn’t so confident.

 

Over in ‘Bear’s’ Tomcat, Rayson’s comments exactly described the state Mary was it. Even before she reached the ladder, she had struck her head against one of the training Sidewinders and had to be helped up the ladder by the plane captain. She had performed the checklist, albeit slower and missed out a step.

 

“Sor..ry,” she mumbled.

 

Some ‘shepherd’, ‘Bear’ thought as he readied himself for the catapult. I hope she doesn’t screw up right up in the air. Minutes later, both F-14As were catapulted off the deck and reached 10,000 feet above sea level (AGL).

 

“Everything normal, ‘Raptor’?” ‘Crusher’ radioed.

 

“All green,” Hawkes replied confidently.

 

“Hawk Flight, check,” ‘Crusher’ radioed his wingman.

 

“Two,” came the reply, indicating that everything ‘green’ or normal on his end. “I think Watkins needs just a little more time to adjust.”

 

“Well, boys and girls,” the voice of CAG Tom Boone interrupted them, “let’s see what you really have. Head out over the Battle Group, keep between Angels 12 and 8, no more that Mac 0.8. I want to see you guys pull Gs as high as 6Gs.”

 

“Roger, CAG,” both pilots radio and with their wings swept, they throttled up. Elizabeth Hawkes was happy as a lark with this sudden burst in speed while Mary Watkins felt like it was worse that a bull kicking you in the butt, and she had the unfortunate experience long ago. As the two Tomcats zoomed past the outer group of escorts, the newly named ‘Raptor’ radioed, “rain spell ahead. You wanna head through it?”

 

“Nah, let’s break the ceiling. See ya above ‘Bear’,” he radioed then drew his aircraft in a twenty-degree ascent. Why the hell didn’t my RIO spot that? ‘Beat’ thought as he followed suit. Behind him, Watkins was still attempting to get over the increase in speed when she felt the change in G forces. Gosh, please, no....

 

“Ah clear skies, go to love it,” ‘Bear’ radioed.

 

“CAG said he wanted us to practice,” ‘Crusher reminded him. “Read for some fancy work?”

 

“If our RIOs are ready,” ‘Bear’ replied, hoping Watkins would shape up.

 

“I’m in,” ‘Raptor’ Hawkes said.

 

“Uh...ye...affirmative,” Watkis said, closing her eyes.

 

Both pilots dived down straight from 12,000 feet to 8,000 in a matter of seconds, pulling hard Gs as high as 5.8. Then both pilots ascended bank up again, pulling up to zone 4. “Woohoo,” Lieutenant Hawkes exclaimed, “now that’s flying!”

 

“Well, Hawkes, wait till you see what’s next,” their CO bates radioed in. “Be on a look out people, we’re setting up false bogeys and bandits for you to intercept. Again, the ROE is fixed. Good luck, good hunting.”

 

“Did he say bandits and bogeys?” ‘Shepherd’ radioed.

 

“That’s right; you ladies are suppose to help us discern who’s friendly, who’s hostile,” her pilot remarked.

 

“Tally ho,” Hawkes interrupted. “Single, no wait, make that two bogey’s, at 180 degrees, angels...10,” she squinted at her tactical information display.

 

“ ‘Bear’ I’ll take the lead, you cover my six,” ‘Crusher’ radioed and with the other’s acknowledgement, they headed for the bogeys. “They're bandits,” Hawkes commented as they drew closer.

 

“What do you think ‘Shepherd’?” ‘Bear’ prompted his RIO.

 

“Yep, IFF says their bo..bandits,” she corrected herself. “Wait, I’ve another group of bogeys, bearing 240, angels 11, speed 600,” she gulped.

 

“Hawk 1, you copy that?”

 

“Yeah...ok....I think they considered we intercepted that group,” ‘Crusher’ radioed. “Let’s head for....” suddenly all four of them heard a buzzing noise.

 

“Boom, you’re dead,” CAG Tom Boone radioed. “Ok people, get you birds refuelled and head for the ship.”

 

To Be Continued.

PS: It’s short yeah, but the next maybe be longer.    

 


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks for the reviews but please review more!_

 

**USS Seahawk**

**Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean**

**1755 local**

 

“Starlight, this is Hawk 101, commencing approach,” ‘Crusher’, radioed the Seahawk’s tower, using it’s callsign.

 

“Roger Hawk 101, I have you in pattern, you descent looks good,” one of the Air Boss’s assistants returned the call.

 

“Slight wind coming from 020,” ‘Raptor’, Lieutenant Hawkes informed her pilot.

 

“Thanks for that,” he replied, slightly grinning as adjusted the Tomcat. Man, I’m really starting to like this RIO. I may just want to keep her…

 

“Hawk 101, transferring you over to Paddles,” the Assistant Air Boss radioed.

 

“Roger, Paddles, Tomcat Hawk 101, how do you read,” ‘Crusher’ adjusted his radio.

 

“Tomcat Hawk 101, loud and clear. We have you 1.25miles out, adjust yourself, you’re around 5 degrees left of the centerline.”

 

“Roger.”

 

“Your hook should be down soon,” Hawkes advised Rayson.

 

“Hook coming down.”

 

“Hawk 101, you’re approaching the three-quarters mark, call the ball,” Paddles radioed.

 

“Paddles, Tomcat, 101, Ball two-point-five,” ‘Crusher’ radioed.

 

“Roger, you’re on the glidescope.”

 

“Keep it coming,” Hawkes gave a positive appraisal. Minutes later, both of them felt a large ‘kick to their behinds’ as the Tomcat caught the number 3 wire and screeched to a halt. “Back safe and sound. Good job ‘Crusher’.”

 

“You too ‘Raptor’ you were great up there.”

 

Over in Hawk 102, it was a vastly story. Watkins and Brown were caught in the gust of wind and Brown was rapidly adjusting his course, with little input from his new RIO. “Hawk 102, switching you over to Paddles,” the Assistant Air Boss radioed.

 

“Haw 102, you’re quite off the glidescope, adjust 20 degrees left, descend further, to 460” Paddles radioed.

 

“Roger,” ‘Bear’ said then switched to plane frequency. “ ‘Shepherd’,  double check the landing list.” No response… “Shepherd?”

 

“Huh, oh sorry, yeah, you adjusted properly,” Watkins replied.

 

“You got to be faster than that,” Brown commented. Geez… “Hawk 101, your tailhook isn’t down,” Paddles radioed, examining the TV scope.

 

“Coming down,” Watkins, damnit, I told you to run me down Watkins!

 

“Call the Ball 102.”

 

“Tomcat 101, Ball, Two-point-three,” Below decks, the arrestor wire crew adjusted the arrestor wire tension for the lesser fuel weight. Coming for the final approach, Lieutenant Brown re-adjusted his plane according to Paddles’ instructions, he still only caught the the number 2 wire. Mary Watkins didn’t really care and was anxious to exit the F-14A even as soon as it taxied to a halt. Finally out of the plane and flight deck, she caught up with Elizabeth Hawkes.

 

“Man, Beth, that wasn’t really tiring. I hope to…”

 

“Ma’am, ma’am,” A Petty Officer Third Class came up to them. “CAG and CO Bates wish to meet you in the flight quarters.” He pronounced the word “ma’am” like “man”.

 

“Alright, let’s store this gear first…” Watkins started but the YN3 indicated that it was right now. Both junior RIOs did so, with Watkins wondered why they couldn’t change out first.

 

“Ladies, you show a hell out on your first day,” Captain Tom Boone, remarked, his back facing them, flipping through some records.

 

“Thank you, si…”

 

“Thank you?!” Tom Boone spun around, the annoyance and anger visible in his face. “You think this is basic flight school where you can just gain points and hope mistakes pass by? You did shit today. You Watkins, you call yourself a RIO? You  failed to assist your pilot at every turn, from pre-flight to take off and landing. And you,” Boone headed over to Hawkes. “You, think you were perfect? You couldn’t differentiate bogeys and bandits fast enough!”

 

“Sir…” Hawkes began.

 

“I don’t want to hear excuses girls. You better shape up fast or you’ll be catapulted off this ship before you know it. Dismissed.”

 

“Geez, this CAG really has something about him,” Mary groaned one they were far away.

 

“Whatever it is Mary, we have to meet standards. And Frankly, you did make mistakes you never made during our training.”

 

Back in the CAG’s personal office, Bates remarked. “Tom,” he could call him by his first name due to their history of flying together, “You are always tough on newbies, but not this tough. Something I should know?”

 

“I’ve not move my standards an inch, Bates,” Boone grunted, chewing on a cigar.

 

“Is it because they are female?”

 

“They could be animals or aliens and I’ll still train  them hard,” Boone replied.

 

“Or is there something else you’re not telling me about?”

 

“So how did the first flight go?” Lt. Horricks asked the two junior RIOs.

 

“It was fun, I’m all for the Tomcat right now!” Liz Hawkes exclaimed.

 

“It was alright; but really, really tiring,” Mary Watkins half groaned. “And now I’m hungry.”

 

“I’ll show you where the mess hall is, but I won’t be joining you two this time; have to catch up with work.” Watkins was already stripping off her flight gear, revealing a dark shirt and white panties, then pulled on her ‘peanut butter’ uniform. “Beth, you coming?”

 

“I’ll catch you a bit later,” was the reply.

 

Soon enough, Lieutenant Mary Watkins found herself in one of the ship’s large mess halls, queuing behind a line of sailors. She really didn’t think herself as a short woman but every other male sailor was at least six foot or six foot five. Some of these guys are aviators, man how can they fit into the cockpit?

 

“The meat casserole, please,” Mary pointed at the option and received a small slab of it in return.

 

“Can I have a bit more?”

“Sorry, babe, you get that scoop,” came the reply from the Mess Management Specialist 3.

 

“Ahem,” Mary heard a familiar voice behind her. “That’s Lieutenant, or ma’am, sailor. Now correct yourself and serve this officer what she asks for,” Lieutenant Elizabeth Hawkes said.

 

“Yes, ma’am, sorry,” the MS3 said, although it wasn’t a strong apology. He scooped another portion on Watkin’s plate and Hawkes’ and the two of them completed the line, adding salad and other items to their trays.

 

“What a jerk,” Mary said, jamming a spoonful of the casserole and sipping a drink. “Tasteless,” she shook lots of pepper onto the meal.

 

“We’ve got to stand up for ourselves Mary,” Skates said, tackling the food and showing not dislike for it.

 

“It’s a man’s world, but I thought harassment has stopped. Now we’re here and everyone is against us: CO, CAG, Mess Management...”

 

“You have to be confident Mary...”

 

**2345 Local**

 

After the meal and spending some hours reading up on F-14 weapon systems to refresh their minds, both female RIOs hit the racks. Hawkes was still in her flight shirt, shorts and underwear, with her flight suit nearby. Watkins on the other hand, had changed out to her pyjamas, with her flight clothes packed back. As the ship bobbed up and down, suddenly a high-pitched siren blarred. Hawkes was the first one to jump out.

 

“What the hell is this?” Watkins groaned, plugging her ears. Both of them then heard rapid movements from the corridor outside.

 

“Get dressed Mary, we have to respond,” Beth Hawkes said, pulling on her flightsuit over her shirt and shorts.

 

“What...I think it’s a false alarm,” Watkins plugged her ears and didn’t move.

 

“Come on!” Reluctantly, the taller RIO got up and one hand in her ear, she stripped off her night clothes and fumbled around for her flightsuit. Meanwhile, Elizabeth Hawkes had already headed outside.

 

To Be Continued...

 


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks for the reviews, but please review more!_

_Remember this takes place in the early 1990s, and before Harm met Skates during “Crossing the Line”._

_I hope I used all fictional USN Squadrons._

 

**USS Seahawk**

**2345 local**

 

Beth Hawkes ran out of her quarters, ignoring Mary. After bounding several ladders, she made it to the Air Wing ready room where various aviators and Weapon System Officers (WSOs) were in their flight uniform and donning gear. She immediately spotted the aviator she flew with earlier, Lieutenant John ‘Crusher’ Rayson. “Hey, Crusher,” she called out. “A drill?”

 

“Yeah, better gear up ‘Raptor’”, he used her new call sign. “Old man’s—CAG’s—sudden drill.” Beth nodded quickly picked out the flight gear that was suitable for her size. Just as she finished gearing up, someone called, “Attention on deck!” and CAG Tom Boone, his deputy and other senior Carrier Air Wing staff entered. Boone surveyed the stock still officers before he nodded and they all were informed to stay at ease. “Squadrons, report in!” Boone bellowed.

 

“Detachment 3, CVW-8, accounted for and ready sir!” Answered the Carrier-on-board delivery (COD) CO.

 

“VQ-6, accounted for and ready sir!” called the Lieutenant Commander in charge of the Wing’s electronic warfare (ELINT) squadron.

 

“HS-16, accounted for and ready sir!” called the CO of the anti-submarine warfare helicopter squadron. The same calls came from VS-29, the S-3 squadron and VAW-114, the E-2C squadron and VA-66, the medium attack and aerial refuelling squadron. As the Hornet squadrons started to call out their readiness, Beth looked around for her colleague. Where on earth was she? The siren had rang loud and long enough; where was she?

 

“VF-20, accounted for and ready sir!” the first Tomcat squadron CO called.

 

“VF-16, accounted for and ready sir!” Commander Steven Bates announced.

 

“No, you’re not,” the CAG countered. “You’re missing a squadron member.” Just then, the hatch open and a slightly sweaty Mary Watkins arrived. “Well, mademoiselle,” Boone called sarcastically, “the party started earlier.” Then in growling voice he ordered her to gear up and she gave a quick “yes sir” and finally joined her squadron. The whole Wing was called to attention again and CAG stepped back. “You all need to shape up. Not just your squadron Bates; all of you. Wauldron, get you eyes back here and not on your feet,” Tom Boone pointed at the CO of one of the Marine F/A-18A squadrons. “And you, ‘Singer’, don’t think you’re lucky just your squadron is in order.” Boone paused to survey the room. “This is a Carrier Air Wing, not some circus where you can play around. Snap drills may be snap drills but gentlemen, and” he paused, “ladies,” he said ladies with some effort, “this is a naval attack wing. We are the really frontline of US defence. You’ll stay on alert her for another half hour before you stand down.” With that, Boone, his deputy and his staff walked out as the Command Master Chief commanded the room to stay at attention before giving the “stand easy” order.

 

“Gee, that was a tough on. You owe me five bucks,” CO ‘Singer’ commented to Commander Bates.

 

“Oh really? Don’t recall that. Besides, doesn’t one of your pilots have a cracked oxygen mask? Lucky CAG didn’t spot that,” countered Bates. Singer scrambled to address that issue while Bates turned to Mary. “Great timing Mary. You’re lucky this is your drill. Next time, move faster.”

 

“I’m...sorry,” but Bate had move out of ear shoe. Hawkes motioned her colleague to sit down and remarked, “Mary, what came over you? We’ve been through many drills before. You’ve got to arrive on the dot.”

 

“I’m...sorry,” Watkins repeated herself. “I’ve just lost my orientation for a while...”

 

“Take a breather, Mary. But remember, we’re in the fleet now.” Watkins nodded but her eyes showed otherwise. The drill over, she expected to finally hit the racks but she and Bates were called over to the CAG’s office. “Don’t worry Mary,” Beth said, patting her friend on the shoulder. “Just take it like any school punishment.”

 

The next morning at around 0620, Beth woke up and saw her friend sitting on her bunk with red eyes. “What happened?” She asked.

 

Mary shook her head and muttered something about a long dress down. “Well come on, it’s a new day. You better freshen up or you won’t be in a state to fly.” Minutes later, both girls were at the chow line and Beth helped a still sleepy Mary with load her tray, ensuring that she received extra coffee.

 

“Morning you two, mind if I join?” Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Emily Horricks asked. “Oh you look like you had a rough night,” she commented noticing Watkins’ look.

 

“Just the midnight drill,” replied Beth, who tried to chew on the over-cooked bacon.

 

“Hmmmm....” was all Mary could answer, cutting her egg into smaller pieces and letting the yoke seep all over her plate.

 

“Captain Boones snap drills. Happens ever so often that no one bothers to wait after the first second,” Horricks replied then noticed Watkins looking away. “Did I...”

 

“It was just a small mistake,” Beth quickly added motioning her friend to keep eating.

 

“Boone’s like that. He wants to see results from his Air Wing people. He first female RIO couldn’t take it after he single-handly took on two Serbian Mig-21s. She was killed, many though it was suicide at first but later it was found to be murder. Still, It showed...”

 

“Lieutenant, I don’t think its the time to tell tales. Come on Mary, eat up. The others are finishing,” Beth prodded Mary and noticed that the other aviators hd put their trays away.

 

The girls finally finished up and reported to their Squadron area. “Good morning people,” Commander Bates announced and the squadron replied. “Not that good a response. Okay, let’s see how you people are this morning. Weather’s really fine for the next couple of hours so I expect smooth runs today. Intercept training with, he paused for effect, “live missiles.”

 

To Be Continued.

 


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks for all the reviews._

_Here I try to describe how it is like launching off a US Navy carrier but for brevity and storytelling, I cut short some parts._

 

**Squadron Ready Room**

**USS Seahawk**

 

“I can’t believe we’re going with live rounds,” Mary Watkins commented as the aviators and RIOs moved to the flight deck. “I mean we barely got to fire them during our training.”

 

“Well, I just can’t wait,” Elizabeth Hawkes said gleefully, rubbing her hairs. “Firing up the AWG-9 and practice firing with Phoeni…”

 

“We’re not loading you with AIM-54s, Hawkes,” Bates interjected. “You should know that money doesn’t grow on trees. You only arm up with Phoenixes if we’re dealing with real adversaries. No, today you’re only getting Sparrows and Sidewinders. It’s testing you ACM people, not let you just practise with the radar.”

 

“Hey, Raptor, ready to rock and roll?” ‘Crusher’ greeted Lieutenant Hawkes.

 

“I was born ready, ‘Crusher’,” Hawkes replied and joking poked her pilot. As the aviators and RIOs entered the flight deck, they were greeted by the almost bleak blackness of the Pacific early morning. Mary immediately collided into another squadron mate before she got her bearing. The noise level of the flight deck suddenly rose as an A-6E Intruder hit the number 4 arrestor wire and jolted to a stop. Then, a F/A-18A Hornet was launched from the one of the catapults on the bow. Crusher and Raptor found their plane number 101 parked along the “Six Pack”, the area forward of the island on the starboard side of the ship. As the two of the met up with their Plane Captain, Mary followed Bear to the stern of the ship towards the “Finger”, the small area aft of Elevator #4 where their plane, 102 was parked. Suddenly the ship bobbed up and all personnel in that area had to steady themselves, lest they get an injury or worse, fall overboard.

 

Crusher and Raptor had just finished their external pre-flight inspection while Mary was still trying to balance herself while inspecting her Tomcat. “Hey Lamb, double check the M61 will you?” Her pilot called out. The ship rocked again and Mary nearly fell had her Plane Captain not caught her. “Ma’am, it’s not easy but hope you’re alright?” Mary could only give a brief nod over the roaring sound of the other jets as she examined the Gatling Gun.

 

“Can you hear me, Raptor?” Crusher radioed through the Internal Communications System.

 

“Roger boss, loud and clear,” Hawkes replied.

 

“I’m not your boss Hawkes,” Lieutenant Rayson laughed. “Unless you want me to be.”

 

“Well since we’re together, remember call me Beth,” Elizabeth Hawkes also laughed and they began their internal pre-flight checklist. This time, Mary Watkins got the sequence correct and soon they were taxing to the Number 3 catapult. Crusher and Raptor on the other hand had to wait for several minutes before the Flight Deck Coordinator issued the order to their Plane Captain to “break down” the aircraft-- remove all chocks and chains from the aircraft and turn the aircraft over to a Yellow Shirt for taxiing. They were soon quickly inspected by the “white shirts” and suddenly both of them were thrown back by the mixed force of the afterburner and catapult, their Tomcat was airborne, with plane 102 launching just a few minutes after.

 

“Now this is good morning people!” Crusher radioed as they moved to 12,000 feet and saw the bright sunlight.

 

“Yup, man, this beats the weak Navy coffee anytime,” Bear radioed back.

 

“Hawk Flight, this is Starlight control,” the E-2C for this exercise interrupted, “Bogeys bearing 125 degrees, Angels 11.”

 

“I got it,” Raptor and Lamb said simultaneously and Raptor suggested turning 15 degrees for intercept. “Got them, two bogeys, straight ahead, I mean at our twelve o’clock, 80 klicks but closing.”

 

“Bogey dope,” Darren Brown order and the RIOs configured their IFF sets. “Bandits,” Mary Watkins raidoed, her heart rate growing.

 

“BQM-34A, Drones,” Elizabeth Hawkes said, examining the Tactical Airborne Reconnaissance Pod System (TARPS) screen. These were Ryan Firebee drones

 

“Starlight control, we have two bogeys, BQM-34As, bearing 015, distance 40 klicks and closing,” Crusher radioed. “Confirmation of targets?” The young aviators just didn’t want to confirm these were the targets; they wanted to ensure that there were no civilian targets in the area.

 

“Roger, those are your bogeys. You are cleared for maximum Fox 2 engagement, good hunting,” the E-2 controller responded. Acknowledging, both F-14s closed the distance and with the call of ‘Fox 2’ both of them destroyed the two drones.

 

“That was easy,” Rayson radioed.

 

“Too easy, I think,” Brown replied. “I…”

 

“Hawk flight, additional bogeys, bearing 170, distance Angels 12, distan…closing in on you,” Starlight control interrupted. “Two pairs.”

 

“Break, break!!!” The two F-14s split up at twenty degrees apart. “I’m getting static on my scope!” Lamb cried out.

 

“Buzzer, jamming,” Elizabeth Hawkes commented. “Countering them.” Both RIOs flipped a couple of switches to counter the ECM although the jamming still persisted. “Bogey dope, people,” both pilots radioed simultaneously.

 

“I can’t confirm….” Mary said, one hand flipping a switch while the other holding on to the handle bar as the Tomcat vibrated.

 

“Starlight control, request update?” Bear radioed twice but received no reply.

 

“They must be jamming them as well, or they have been shot down,” Crusher surmised.

 

“Good morning people, the temperature is 105 degrees and rising,” a familiar voice radioed.

 

“Oh shit, it’s the CAG!” Crusher exclaimed.

 

“Mind your language Rayson,” another voice scolded the young aviator.

 

“Uh, good morning CO,” the aviators and RIO chimed. Then on intercom, each aviator asked their corresponding RIOs the same question: where the hell are the bandits?

 

“We’re somewhere. And so are more drones. Safety your Sparrow missiles for now; you have to rely on your Sidewinders and guns. The first two drones maybe have been like a turkey shoots to you but these won’t be. You are cleared for the surrounding airspace but no intercepts below angels 10.” Suddenly, a huge burst of static filled their eardrums.

 

To be Continued.

 

 


End file.
